FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

On the list of odd ways to wake up, this was going to be hard to beat. For a start, he was standing up. What was going to keep this one top of the list, however, was going to be the body at his feet. It was his and he seemed to be dead.

Just to put the icing on the cake, he seemed to have died quite violently. Most of the fur on his back was scorched away, none of his clothes were anywhere in sight, and what he could see of his surroundings suggested even worse had happened to the rest of the island.

It wasn't much as islands went, just a single hill standing guard at the narrow entry to a wide bay. The only claim to fame it had was as the centrepiece to an old harbour defense system during the war years. What remained of the facility had long since been absorbed into the fishing town that had been on the island for centuries. There were rumours of kilometres of tunnels underneath the hill that had been sealed off, with no records of the tunnels themselves left behind. Even the entry locations were only recorded on invoices by the business that had done the sealing work. Time and adult indifference had rendered the tunnels into the category of urban myth.

For those growing up on the island, tales of secret underground bunkers had fuelled regular trips into the bush covering the hill. Intimate knowledge of their surroundings helped as young boys grew older, and began becoming interested in intimate knowledge of those within said surroundings instead. Knowing the best makeout spots was vitally important for avoiding the angry parental confrontations that occurred if caught.

It had taken nearly two years, and a research grant, before he and his professor had finally managed to find the location of a tunnel entry. They'd rigged a couple of military surplus inertial tracking units to provide an automatic mapping system, loaded up with a week's worth of supplies, and stashed it all just inside the entry. The plan had been to enjoy the local oyster festival today, and head down the tunnels tomorrow. That was assuming it was still today, the last thing he could remember was a rather pleasant night spent with an energetic otter.

"I imagine you have some questions." The voice had no source, seeming to be inside his own head. Apparently being dead at his own feet wasn't weird enough, so hearing voices had been added to the list.

"Uhh, yeah." His voice had the same quality, as if he were hearing it purely in his head rather than through his ears. This was, he realised at last, probably part of whatever effect caused his current viewpoint to be unattached to a body. Finding oneself disembodied was slightly unsettling. Combined with being dead, it was nearly unconditional panic time.

"Please don't panic. We have plenty of time to talk and I promise nothing will happen to you." Somehow the smooth, cultured voice helped him to quell the surge of primal fear that had shot through his thoughts.

"I think a promise like that might have been a bit more useful earlier." He managed a suitably dry tone, and was rewarded with an amused snort. "Okay, so what happened? Why can't I remember how I ended up like this?"

"What happened was a meteor strike, a very large one, on the other side of the bay. You can't remember what happened because I did not feel you needed the memory of slowly dying from your injuries over several hours." His new imaginary friend certainly liked getting straight to the point.

"And now I'm dead?" Despite the scorched evidence before him, hope still held on somewhere inside him.

"Quite. Along with almost everyone on the island, well over half the mainland population, and I expect quite a few more to die from the poisonous gas cloud coming from the crater." And that would be the sound of hope losing hold and falling, screaming, into the abyss.

"Almost everyone? How many survived? Is the gas going to get them?" Was part of being dead supposed to be talking to voices in your mind?

"There is one survivor, the gas cloud is being blown away from the area for now. She should survive, thanks to you in multiple ways." He had to wince, one survivor from a population of fifty thousand, plus festival attendees. The mainland casualties would be well into the millions too.

"One survivor? How did I help?" At least it sounded like he'd died doing something worthwhile, for whatever that was worth now.

"You got her into the tunnel entrance, and your supplies sit inside." Presumably the survivor was either the otter he'd spent the night with, or her daughter. He glanced around again, eventually finding a recognisable landmark and getting his bearings. The entrance was nearly a hundred metres down the hill from his body.

"If I had time to get this far, I had time to cycle through the airlock after her." It was more an accusation than a statement. The entrance they'd been able to find was a single person airlock a little smaller than a standard coffin. Only one of the doors could be open at any time, and the combination locks controlling the doors couldn't be operated while either door was open. Realisation hit as he remembered the panic during his first use. Stuck in a space that pressed in on all sides, just the glowing buttons for the combination. They'd stuck a light on the wall after that, and written the combination next to both keypads.

"In this variation, you also attempted to save your host." So he'd saved the girl, and she must have panicked. The light would stay on till the battery died in a few weeks, hopefully she would be able to see the combination on the wall.

"Wait, this variation? Is this some kind of simulation? Have I just been doing the same thing over and over? I really hated that movie, by the way." Or maybe he was inside a computer simulation? He hadn't liked that movie overly much either.

"This will take some explaining, it will go faster if you do not interrupt with questions." Great, even in death he was going to have to sit through lectures.

"I'm not exactly going anywhere soon." That earned him a chuckle, at least.

"Indeed. To begin, one view your species has of time is a branching tree. New branches spreading off with every decision to make multiple possible timelines. This is somewhat correct, and is a result of your being unable to experience all eventualities. You are unique in that respect, by the way." The voice paused, and he could swear there was a nod of approval when he stayed quiet. Not so much because he had no questions to ask, more that he had no idea how to ask them.

"Most sapients can experience all outcomes. If there were a new experience for every possible result, we would quickly surrender to insanity. What actually happens is that similar outcomes never cause a split, or split only briefly before merging back into each other. Over time even large splits will merge back together. In large part because we work towards this. We find the multiple viewpoints... uncomfortable." An unseen shrug this time. "I use words that don't really fit becuase you do not have the exact concepts in your language."

"Like explaining colour to a blind man?" There was a pause, then a silent negation. Like someone had shaken their head behind him, but he was somehow still aware of it.

"No, you have a basic understanding of the concept, but have not advanced far enough to develop the language needed. More like someone who knows only addition. Subtraction comes easily enough, but to explain how to multiply requires more study. Try explaining logarithms to that person." A questioning pause.

"I'm not sure I can even manage the addition on this subject." He shared an invisible grin with the voice.

"I digress. Many of us watch your species with interest, your inability to feel all outcomes means you march merrily on with no regard for your future lines. Some of you carry tangles of extra lines around till your death, and the way these snarls merge with other lines is fascinating. What you call ghosts are one such side effect of this process. We aren't entirely sure that time itself is not a living organism, by the way, for certain events seem to have a guiding hand." He could feel his mind make an abrupt left turn off sanity street, headed for confusion boulevard at speed now.

"You, on the other hand, have managed something we have never seen from your kind. An event such as what you have just been through will cause so many extra lines for a brief time we can all feel reality stretching, growing thinner if you will. These lines will slowly merge into each other over time. Centuries can pass before everything has resolved itself. And yet, here in the centre is a single line that all others merge back into, very quickly." There was an awed tone to the voice now, uncomfortably close to someone meeting their childhood hero.

"You will always try to save the girl. Always. There are not even any low order probabilities of you attempting to do otherwise. With a split second decision to make, you have a unity of purpose usually only seen in those with an awareness of the whole. And not often even then. Already we are seeing unprecedented levels of merging."

"I don't see what exactly you want from me, I've already done what I needed to do by the sound of it." He shrugged, or at least did whatever a disembodied ball of thought did in place of it. Just what was he now anyway? Other than a half cooked slab of fox.

"I want to return you to the line, put your presence into an available body." The voice sounded nervous now.

"You can do that? Bring me back to life?" Hopefully after that whole pain and agony thing was fixed. That corpse of his didn't look like a fun place to be just now.

"Oh no, I can't do anything like that. There needs to be an active neural structure of sorts to attach you to. Preferably one without an existing presence or we get all sorts of crossed connections between the two. There is a body that has taken enough head trauma to disconnect the existing presence." The voice paused, and gave what sounded like a disgusted snort. "Your language really doesn't have the terms for all this."

"I think I get the gist of it. I'm going into someone else's body? Someone who died in the blast, just their body hasn't figured it out yet?" Hopefuly this wasn't going to be as macabre as it sounded.

"Essentially. She tried to get back out of the entry after you put her in, the door knocked her back in quite forcefully. Higher brain functions have ceased, the process of transferring you will repair most of the damage. There will be pain, but it should fade quickly." So much for painless, he guessed. Still, at least... wait.

"HER?!? As in the her I just died to save?" At least he could still shout like this.

'Yes, but please under..."

"I did not save her just so I could steal her body! Put her back in her own body! I'd rather stay dead!"

"I can not. Please let me explain." The voice rose in volume, quieting his next outburst. "I can only transfer presences from the same lines, there is a limit to the distance it can be done, and a presence can only be held out of a body for a short time."

"Oh." It still felt wrong, but if she was dead in this 'line', why not take the second chance? "This won't change the time I did save her, will it?"

"No, the lines generally remain distinct until one or the other dies."

"Generally? So you've done this before then?"

"Rarely. The physical and temporal limits make chances uncommon, given that one of us has to be aware of the chance and have a reason to take it the actual number of incidences is... small." Hesitation, the voice was hiding something.

"Okay... So how does this work?" He got the strong impression there was a time limit of sorts to all of this, so perhaps distracting the voice with more questions wasn't the best idea. Might as well get on with it.

"I just need to do this." Definitely hiding something if the voice was that quick to jump on the change of subject. Things went... sideways... and everything was dark.

* * * * *

It was dark, he realised, because his eyes were closed. Judging by the pounding headache and generally bruised all over sensations his brain was registering, this must be his new body.

The tunnel entry felt larger than he remembered, the keypads for the combination locks were well above head height instead of shoulder height. There was no way he could reach the light they'd stuck up in one corner anymore, so it was lucky they'd decided to just leave it on. Other than those features, and the code scrawled next to each keypad, the entry was just a featureless concrete coffin embedded in the side of a drainage ditch.

The light was in a corner opposite the external entry, so that meant he needed to turn around to face the door into the tunnels. With his old body it wouldn't have been possible, his shoulders had been wider than the entry was deep. This new body was small enough he could do so with hardly any effort at all. Keying the seven digit code in required a raised arm, generating a fair bit of pain from assorted bruises. His fine motor control was shot to hell as well, it took him three attempts and careful concentration to eventually hit buttons in the correct sequence. Finally the deep thunk of the locking pins springing back heralded success. And a moment's panic. Pressing on the door didn't budge it, nor did leaning on it. He had to brace his slight, new frame against the exit door and push before it finally shifted.

Thankfully the system to push the door closed moved slow enough that he could slip through without losing his tail in the damned thing. As it swung shut with a thump-click, he suddenly realised there was no way he could pull the thing open again. All light had also cut off, adrenaline surged through his system at the sudden loss. The walls deadened sound, and everything smelt musty and old. No sight, nothing to hear, and just the one all-pervasive smell. Even the sensory deprivation experiments he'd signed up for one summer break hadn't been this bad.

He had no idea how long he'd stood there, shivering in fear while his thoughts ran in tiny, panicked circles, before he managed to regain a shaky semblance of rational thought. All their gear was piled a few metres down the hall, along with custom built wagons to help carry it all. In it there would be long life lamps, with a kinetic charger just in case. Plus food, and some painkillers to help with the headache that had returned in force along with sanity.

Some sort of sound damping material covered the walls, the texture was similar to rough sackcloth, and gave slightly when he pressed his hand onto it. Trailing one hand along the wall to stay oriented, and the other hand waving in front of him, he quickly found the pile of supplies in the traditional way. Sprawled over the pile, one of the lamps was easy to find thanks to the bruise it had probably left on his hip. Once that was turned on and carefully placed out of the way on the floor, he could finally relax a bit and take stock of his new body.

He was, apparently, now an Otter. With sleek brown fur, and a short, muscly tail. At first glance he'd thought the shorts and shirt he wore were dark red, till he realised there was an awful lot of blood dried into his fur from pressure cuts on the back of his head, across his forehead, and from his nose. The cuts felt far more healed than they should be, so presumably that was another effect of his transference. Water and food would probably be a good idea, but while cleaning up would be nice, he'd save water for now. Not like there was anyone round here to scare with his zombie otter look.

There were enough miltary grade ration packs to feed two adults for a week, along with water to match. Munching through a bag of muesli, one mouthful of water for every mouthful of food, he started planning. Might as well get some of the mapping done first, base himself from here, spend a week mapping, then trip one of the emergency beacons. The beacons were designed for cave explorers and should punch a signal through up to fifty metres of solid rock, so by the door should be fine. They were also strong enough to cause issues with electronic equipment, so keeping them away from the mapping units would be a good idea.

There were even a pair of chemical toilets in the pile of supplies. Since they were pretty sure power, plumbing and ventilation would be out. Before he forgot, he rummaged up one of the oxymeters and clipped it to his shirt. It would start warning if oxygen levels started to get too low so he could slip on a rebreather. Useful for surface diving, the rebreathers could supply breathable air for hours off a single small oxygen bottle, depending on oxygen levels in the air.

So a week or so of mapping, give everything time to sort itself out on the surface, then trip a beacon and wait for rescue. He should have another two weeks worth of supplies, hopefully someone would come by to open the door and let him out.

Yep. All they'd have to do was enter the combination that only he knew, and which was written on the inside of the doors. Well shit. Plan B, then. Find another way out.

No careful mapping of room dimensions, assuming there were any. Just a very busy attempt to map as much as possible before he ran out of food. Or water. Or maybe even air. Maybe next time he should use a travel agent instead of his research project to find a holiday destination.

Packing was an exercise in priorities. The chemical toilet was the largest item, but it and the mapper were the two items he had to have. Well, technically he could go on the floor, he supposed, but he wasn't going to. Speaking of cold, hard floors, a sleeping bag would also be a good idea. From there it was just a question of how much food and water he could drag around in a wagon. This new body was not going to be able to manage to drag around his original load plan of 'pile it all on top'.

Eventually he had what he hoped was the best mix. After the painkillers had finally kicked in he almost felt optimistic again. With one lamp tucked safely amongst the ratpacks, and the other carefully wedged into place on top of the wagon, he set off towards his long legged shadow stretching down the corridor ahead.

After exactly one kilometre, he found his first corner. It even came with a small complex of unfurnished rooms. The room walls were the same material as the tunnel, but each room had a different colour. He even found a bathroom, at which point his bladder declared an emergency. For a wonder, the toilet bowl still had water in it. Closer, cross-legged inspection revealed a slow leak into the bowl. Was there still running water in here? Where was it coming from? Preparing to run in case of catastrophic failure, he reached over and activated the flush.

A powerful, watery flush ensued, followed by the hissing spray of the top tank refilling. His bladder, incensed at all these watery goings on, signalled imminent release and any thoughts of further tests were hastily cast aside. Pulling the front of his shorts down and relaxing, he reached down to pull the appropriate plumbing out.

And found himself touching featureless fur as he wet his shorts. A panic that transcended his earlier fear of the dark washed through him, his legs giving way and unceremoniously dumping him on his soggy butt, still increasing the puddle around him for several more long seconds. He had no sheath. Usual best practice for mess free urination involved relaxing enough to have the penis grow up out of the sheath. One then had a flexible hose to aim at the appropriate point. If one relaxed too far, the stream started while still in the sheath, resulting in an impressively messy sprinkler. Young male cubs generally peed in the shower till they got the hang of this, or mopped the floor a lot. In this case, twenty or so years spent practicing had just been rendered moot. Admittedly trying to go with raging morning wood was no longer going to be an issue.

Given enough time, he'd probably have figured it out without making a small, spreading lake on the floor of a centuries old historical military base. Instead, he got that lovely warm feeling of discovery slowly cooling the seat of his pants. Or was it 'her' pants now? Maybe it was time to start practicing self-identifying as female before a slip up made others suspicious. Wasn't this going to be a fun week?

First thing to do, get out of these clothes and clean up, just as well there seemed to be a handy water supply now. Her top was stuck to her fur in places from the blood, occasionally sticking hard enough to tug painfully. Eventually she slipped it over her head and glanced around self-consciously. Less than an hour ago she'd been scared there was no one else around, now she was worried there was.

Covered in blood, soaked in urine, trapped alone in an abandoned underground complex, and she was worried someone might see her take her shorts off. It felt good to giggle at the absurdity of it all. At least until her soaking wet fur started to feel cold. Her smile faded slowly into a thoughtful frown as she realised there were no doors in the little mini complex. Nor was there a laundry, so she had to settle for dumping her clothes in the handbasin to soak. A few rinses first, and her shorts made a handy flannel to clean up the worst of the mess. It felt very odd to see a young female otter when she looked in the mirror. It was also rather embarrassing to see herself naked, which made her giggle again when she thought about it.

Mess cleaned up, self cleaned up, clothes soaking. Might as well explore the immediate area. The shower cubicle worked, although there was no hot water even after ten minutes. At least the water kept flowing, finding out how the place still had running water would be interesting. It smelt fresh too, and a drop on the tongue didn't cause any immediate reaction. She'd stick with the water she had with her for now though, wait till that ran out before risking it.

There was a bedroom, with an alcove set into the wall. No mattress in sight, but who knew what that would have looked like after so long. A kitchen linked the bedroom and bathroom, just a nonfunctional oven in one corner. She hadn't thought to look for light switches till she tried the oven, but quickly found them by the entry to each room. Unsurprisingly they didn't work, she couldn't even see where the light would come from.

The clock on the tracker showed a full exploration had taken half an hour. Bored of her current surroundings, she decided to try the shower. Even her squeal at the ice cold water was soaked up by the walls without a trace of an echo. She spent most of the time standing off to one side, letting the spray fall on her clothes spread out on the floor. Eventually the water going down the drain ran clear, and her fur felt decently clean. One more quick rinse, teeth clenched to avoid another squeak, and it was time to figure out how to get dry.

Most of the water shook off, with her shorts helping to dry her of a bit more. After plenty of shaking, wringing and rubbing her fur and her clothes were about as dry as they were going to get. A towel would have been handy, but extra clothes had been left off the original list to make room for more supplies. They'd needed to stay down mapping as long as possible. So, run round damp and naked, or run around clothed, damp, and naked.

Body heat would be the only way to dry clothes down here. Although it was warm enough to be comfortable in the fur, clothes would help reduce energy spent staying warm. All the practical reasons were beside the point, though. She was going to wear her clothes because seeing herself naked just felt way too perverted. Changing rooms were going to utterly blow her mind, she suspected.

At least her underwear, while girly, was a deep, boyish blue. Shirt and shorts were going to remain permanently stained with blood by the looks of it. Zombie camo, brown with dark red stains. More of the shirt was red than brown, there was probably a lot of blood on the floor of the entry lock. Since she didn't feel faint, blood loss must also have been covered by transference. Not many furres had a warranty that comprehensive!

Washed, clothed, and with a moderately cheerful attitude, she headed off down the tunnel again. According to the tracker there was a slight curve to the tunnel, but the way the walls, floor and ceiling blended together made it impossible to tell by sight. She wasn't overly surprised to find the next point of interest exactly one kilometre further along.

This stop had a very barracks looking room. Three high rows of alcoves ran along the walls on three sides. The fourth had a series of rooms connecting off it via short corridors. A communal bathroom setup was through the end corridor on both sides, the centre corridor led back out to the main tunnel. Between the central entry and the bathroom on the left as one entered was a drying room, she guessed. Long racks ran down the room in a series of rows. Interestingly, there was a large vent in the centre of the rood, and a regularly spaced set of vents around the walls at floor level. Not a trace of a breeze blew through them though.

The last door, between the entry and the bathroom on the right, had large sinks down one wall, and what she assumed were washing machines. They were big and industrial looking, however, and looked like they could just as easily be used to polish rocks or mix concrete. All the taps produced water, none of it hot, and none of the switches worked. The roof vent in the drying room was too high to climb up to, and looked too smooth to ascend anyway. Not even half an hour later, she was headed further down the tunnel. Onwards to the next stop, munching happily on a fruit bar.

Exactly one kilometre again, and this time it was a large hall, walls so far apart the lamp had trouble lighting opposing walls at the same time. The tunnel she had been following was an opening in the middle of the south wall. Openings in the middle of the west and north walls indicated new tunnels to explore, while he east wall had a typical cafetaria setup, with an impressively large kitchen behind it. As expected, nothing turned on, so it was time to choose another tunnel.

Overlaying the path she'd walked so far on a satellite map of the island showed the north tunnel could be expected to lead to anything underneath the island's central hill. While the west one might end up at a small bay. The bay was made of steep cliffs and tricky shoals, claiming plenty of lives over the years when combined with the powerful tides. Any surviving exit was likely in that direction. North felt like the most likely place to put a control centre, however. Be damned if she was going to pass up the chance to explore that.

Just inside the north tunnel were a series of alcoves in a much wider tunnel section. Three metres long and two metres wide, each had a large socket in the back. Her entire hand would fit inside one, if she were insane enough to try. Although sanity was a slightly looser term than before she ended up inside a young girl.

It took a few minutes of giggling at how wrong that sounded before she could continue down the tunnel.

Ten kilometres later, according to the tracker, and she was ready to curl up for the night. The clock was reading nine in the evening, definitely time for good little girls to be in bed. What had been a sleeping bag barely large enough now felt like a small tent. The integral mattress, designed for someone easily three times as heavy, felt like she was lying on a mountain of feathers. True luxury, once one's definition of luxury was suitably altered. Making sure the lantern was easily reached, she turned the light off and lay there for a while, hearing and seeing nothing. After a few minutes spent feeling smaller and smaller, she wriggled completely down into the sleeping bag and curled up around her pillow.